As soon as they were satisfied that the bright spark upon the horizon
was a burning light, every individual on the raft became inspired with
the same impulse,--to make for the spot where the object appeared.
Whether in the galley or not,--and whether the glow of a fire or the
gleam of a lamp,--it must be on board a ship. There was no land in that
part of the ocean; and a light could not be burning upon the water,
without something in the shape of a ship to carry it.
That it was a ship, no one for a moment doubted. So sure were they,
that several of the men, on the moment of making it out, had
vociferated, at the top of their voices, "Ship ahoy!"
The voices of none of them were particularly strong just then. They
were weak, in proportion to their attenuated frames; but had they been
ten times as strong as they were, they could not have been heard at such
a distance as that light was separated from the raft.
It was not less than twenty miles from them. In the excited state of
their senses,--arising from thirst, starvation, and all the wild
emotions which the discovery itself had roused within them,--they had
formed a delusive idea of the distance; many of them fancying that the
light was quite near!
There were some among them who reasoned more rationally. These, instead
of wasting their strength in idle shouting, employed their time in
impressing upon the others the necessity of making some exertion to
approach the light.
Some thought that much exertion would not be required; as the light
appeared to be approaching them. And, in truth, it did appear so; but
the wiser ones knew that this might be only an optical illusion,--caused
by the sea and sky each moment assuming a more sombre hue.
These last--both with voice and by their example--urged their companions
to use every effort towards coming up with what they were sure must be a
ship.
"Let us meet her," they said, "if she's standing this way; if not, we
must do all we can to overtake her."
It needed no persuasion to put the most slothful of the crew upon their
mettle. A new hope of life,--an unexpected prospect of being rescued
from what most of them had been contemplating as almost certain death,--
inspired all to the utmost effort; and with an alacrity they had never
before exhibited in their raft navigation,--and a unanimity of late
unknown to them,--they went to work to propel their clumsy craft across
the ocean.
Some sprang to the oars, while others assisted at the sail. For days
the latter had received no attention; but had been permitted to hang
loosely from the mast,--flopping about in whatever way the breeze
chanced to blow it. They had entertained no idea of what course they
ought to steer in; or if they did think of a direction, they had not
sufficient decision to follow it. For days they had been drifting about
over the surface of the sea, at the discretion of the currents.
Now the sail was reset, with all the trimness that circumstances would
admit of. The sheets were drawn home and made fast; and the mast was
stayed _taut_, so as to hinder it from slanting.
As the object upon which they were directing their course was not
exactly to leeward, it was necessary to manage the sail with the wind
slightly abeam; and for this purpose two men were appointed to the
rudder,--which consisted of a broad plank, poised on its edge and
hitched to the stern timbers of the raft. By means of this rude rudder,
they were enabled to keep the raft "head on" towards the light.
The rowers were seated along both sides. Nearly every individual of the
crew, who was not occupied at the sail or steering-board, was employed
in propelling. A few only were provided with oars; others wielded
handspikes, capstan-bars, or pieces of split plank,--in short, anything
that would assist in the "pulling," if only to the value of a pound.
It was,--or, at all events, they thought it was,--a life and death
struggle. They were sure that a ship was near them. By reaching her
they would be saved; by failing to do so they would be doomed. Another
day without food would bring death, at least to one of them; another day
without water would bring worse than death to almost every man of them.
Their unanimous action, assisted by the broad sail, caused the craft,
cumbersome as it was, to make considerable way through the water,--
though by far too slow to satisfy their wishes. At times they kept
silent; at times their voices could be heard mingled with the plunging
of the oars; and too often only in profane speech.
They cursed the craft upon which they were carried,--its clumsiness,--
the slowness with which they were making way towards the ship,--the ship
itself, for not making way towards them: for, as they continued on,
those who formerly believed that the light was approaching them, no
longer held to that faith. On the contrary, after rowing nearly an
hour, all were too ready to agree in the belief that the ship was
wearing away.
Not an instant passed, without the eyes of some one being directed
towards the light. The rowers, whose backs were turned upon it, kept
occasionally twisting their necks around, and looking over their
shoulders,--only to resume their proper attitudes with countenances that
expressed disappointment.
There were not wanting voices to speak discouragement. Some declared
that the light was growing less; that the ship was in full sail, going
away from them; and that there would not be the slightest chance of
their coming up with her.
These were men who began to feel fatigued at the oar.
There were even some who professed to doubt the existence of a ship, or
a ship's light. What they saw was only a bright spot upon the ocean,--
some luminous object--perhaps the carcass of some phosphorous fish, or
"squid," floating upon the surface. They had many of them seen such
things; and the conjecture was not offered to incredulous ears.
These surmises produced discontent,--which in time would have exhibited
itself in the gradual dropping of the oars, but for a circumstance which
brought this climax about, in a more sudden and simultaneous manner,--
the _extinction of the light_.
It went out while the eyes of several were fixed upon it; not by any
gradual disappearance,--as a waning star might have passed out of
sight,--but with a quick "fluff;"--so one of the spectators described
it,--likening its extinction to "a tub of salt-water thrown over the
galley-fire."
On the instant of its disappearance, the oars were abandoned,--as also
the rudder. It would have been idle to attempt steering any longer.
There was neither moon nor stars in the sky. The light was the only
thing that had been guiding them; and that gone, they had not the
slightest clue as to their course. The breeze was buffeting about in
every direction; but, even had it been blowing steadily, every one of
them knew how uncertain it would be to trust to its guidance,--
especially with such a sail, and such a steering apparatus.
Already half convinced that they had been following an _ignis fatuus_,--
and half resolved to give over the pursuit,--it needed only what had
occurred to cause a complete abandonment of their nocturnal navigation.
Once more giving way to despair,--expressed in wild wicked words,--they
left the sail to itself, and the winds to waft them to whatever spot of
the ocean fate had designed for the closing scene of their wretched
existence.